Avoid Conformity At All Cost

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Avoid conformity at all cost
Don’t succumb to traditional roles
The last traipsing of the mind
The return of structure of the soul

But you don’t need their approval
Nor the organization of their might
Society’s labels are numb to life
They won’t give you harmony in the dark of night

Running My Fingers Upon The Smooth Surface

Running my fingers upon the smooth surface
Keeping them always against the grain
I know my way through the Redwoods
They’re my protection against the dark stains

Born in the high desert among the cacti
Faint echoes from mission bells of yore
Great things come from fools with faith
Misguided souls remain thirsty for more

Stubborn & obstinate as hardwood
Needing my love to keep from being truculent
Even though our touch doesn’t always soften conditions
Nevertheless, she is still my favorite succulent

Telling Stories After Dark

Telling stories after dark
Occasionally with Tom Waits in the lead
Fantastical little allegories
Bringing a light to those souls in need

No need to whisper in the shadows
Luminous words to prepare the way
Removing barriers to our enlightenment
Witticisms fleshed out & on display

Short tales to get creative juices flowing
Harking back to dreams that we might meet
Subtle differences between the pauses
Allowing our imaginations to properly greet

Scenes from our own round table
Foreplay within our cheeky banter
Conjuring visions of a keen passion
Diluted memories at the bottom of our decanter

Bad behavior leads to a more examined life
Though through fiction we can live eternal
A little more sensitive than you want to believe
Yearning to be held by a beautiful dame so maternal

Out here with our hearts raised to the sky
Searching for better answers on the midnight shore
With the freedom to imagine wisdom laid bare
Parsed theories for when we sent them off to war

Subtle manipulation within our romantic esthetics
Unreliable narrators marching; our literary brigade
There’s no vernacular for hearts’ folly
Pushing forth our gentle notion love might persuade

In the end, dear friends, our parable is contrite
In this heinous world, we all have a simple choice
I lay myself to slumber, a fatigued sailor
Wishing for a lullaby coming from Nick Cave’s voice

 

Image by Eli Digital Creative from Pixabay

Middle Of the Ocean Blues

Paddling around the remotest parts
Looking for hope where there’s no merriment
Our souls evaporating in the open air
Put through this vise of a social experiment
Living out here minus the love & support
There’s only so much a man can endure
Mother Nature whirling up the darkest storms
Blowing away my dreams I’m terribly sure

Hey, hey, hey, pretty mama
Please send me some news
It’s lonesome out here
I’ve got the middle of the ocean blues

Thankful for a little spit of dry land
Feeling a bit wobbly & out of sorts
Having a nice cold one under a palm
Time to recharge my batteries in this port
Soon enough, we’ll be back floating
Feeling the Earth’s rotation upon this burn
Long days of sweat & toiling work
Wearing my body out before I return

Hey, hey, hey, pretty mama
Please send me some news
It’s lonesome out here
I’ve got the middle of the ocean blues

Your Idols Weren’t Half The Men

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Your idols weren’t half the men
They thought they were half a bottle in
Cowardly hiding behind unjust traditions
Sinning while gulping juniper medicinal gin

Their women languishing in the shadows
Cast off from any chance to reach the light
Yet those damsels can see through the dark
The perfect heroine to save an errant knight

Misconstrued notions of dynamic parity
Swabbing the deck with your fallen idol
Ink smudges & literary drudges
Methinks – their mothers should’ve used spermicidal

Counting Out The Steps

Counting out the steps
Crawling on all fours
One, two three, one two, three
You deny the circus, but they’re really yours

Giving her another twirl
We’re standing naked & stark
You speak your pretentious slang
Only exposed in the dark

I’m here with your midnight medicine
My beautiful babe, bottoms up!
But I remain steadfast
Watching you spill out of your lace cups

Where Are Our Notions Of Excellence

Where are our notions of excellence
Who was it who decided upon the benchmark
I’m not concerned with the notches in your belt
Nor the inferiority you felt after dark

We need to find a solution within this realm
To expel those who feed off society’s blues
To exterminate the politicians & profiteers
Our war, our blood & our catastrophic fate

Unfolding Broken Dreams

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Unfolding broken dreams
The distant & diluted flow
Our hopeless choices astound
The truth? We still don’t know

But we can never give up
Clinging to the last of our visions
Memories cultivated on dark nights
Leaving us exposed with obvious incisions

How do you translate a morning
When your soul bears undiagnosed pain
Scars from a life well lived
For in the end, disillusioned cannot remain

thinking nostalgic thoughts

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thinking nostalgic thoughts
on an empty stomach
rediscovering grunge tunes
stuck at home in a pandemic
remembering the pain of high school
couldn’t fit in anywhere
reliving dark moments
where it could’ve ended
remembering lost loves
& how warm they made you feel
but you know it wasn’t real
leaving you cold & alone
abandoned until life truly began.

Seeking Out Freedoms

Seeking out the freedoms

But where is the wisdom our follies have made

Washed away with the retreating tides

Now we bask out in the cover of foliage’s shade

I’m sure nature leads us to the answer

The tempted isolation of introverts

The paused legacy of our discontent

Posterity gently tugging at her miniskirt

Tilted scales of Justice – with her hem unraveling

The overture that rises where prudence fails

Our overwrought, sparse conjecture

& leaves us at the darker side of the fairytale

The Clouds Descend Upon Us

The clouds descend upon us
Stress compounding at this time of year
Getting darker as the days build
Waxing upon the fruition of fear

This world is a bloody hell
A disaster proven before the ink dries
Scorn for a distant foundation
Futility in which all hope slowly dies

The darkness returns
Looking for a story to wryly begin
Miscommunications falter
& I wade through my vermouth & gin

Image by Peggy und Marco Lachmann-Anke from Pixabay